


Kinktober 2018

by Zenniet



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Body Worship, Bukkake, Creampie, Cuckolding, Food Kink, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Foot Massage, Frottage, Fucking Machines, Human Furniture, Lingerie, M/M, Master/Pet, Masturbation, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Petplay, Public Sex, Scissoring, Shibari, Shower Sex, Size Difference, Sleepy Sex, Stockings, Tentacles, Threesome - M/M/M, Voice Kink, Voyeurism, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 05:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 17,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16509944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zenniet/pseuds/Zenniet
Summary: Transformers Kinktober fics, kink is in the chapter name (didn't do all the days)





	1. Strength, Bondage, Lingerie - Rodimus/ Ultra Magnus

Rodimus is perpetually searching for new and creative ways to keep himself entertained in the berthroom, and with the size restrictions put on him and Magnus, he sometimes needs to… Outsource things.

Magnus walked into the berthroom that night knowing full well that Rodimus was excited about something. He didn’t know what, the little speedster had refused to tell him anything when they had seen each other on the bridge earlier, but the enthusiasm was contagious and Magnus found himself actually looking forward to see what Rodimus had in store for him. The Lost light had recently stopped off on a foreign planet, and Magnus was smart enough to put two and two together and realize that the timing of their little encounter had lined up all too conveniently with the stop no more than a day or two ago.

Rodimus had explicitly said that he wanted Magnus in his armor for their meet up, and that wasn’t out of the ordinary for either of them. Magnus was well aware that Rodimus held a strong attraction to the size and power of the armor, no matter how impractical it may be in the berth. 

But the berth wasn’t what they would be using. Magnus could have expected a hundred other things, but Rodimus in the white, lacy, mini-dress wasn’t one of them. Mini-dress? What was it? Is that the name for it?

“It’s called a baby doll, baby,” Rodimus sensed Magnus confusion as the little red speedster moved to shut the door behind him, Mags’ eyes tracking him the whole way. “Not the only thing I got, either.” He practically sung the words as he gestured to what laid on top of the berth.

Thick, red ropes, already organized and twisted together in a way that meant all Rodimus would have to do is slide them over Magnus frame. The fibers of the rope were as heavy duty as the thing itself, Rodimus knew just how strong they’d have to be in order to hold Magnus for as long as he wanted.

“Kneel down for me, puppy?” Rodimus’ back was to his partner when he issued the command, but he heard the ex-enforcer sink down to his knees, right in front of the door. Rodimus turned back to him with the rope in his servos and began stringing it along his pet’s frame. around his shoulders, across his chassis, between his legs and it was all secured with one heavy duty clasp in the front.

“Looks like it was a good thing I got the easy mode ones,” Rodimus hummed, “Don’t know if I could’ve done this all on my own.” He stepped back to admire his work. Magnus shifted just a little underneath all the rope and, to his surprise, felt nothing give him any leeway. The red ties were snug and secure, refusing to budge and break like everything before. Rodimus marveled at the sight before him, his pet, feared my many and admired by just as much, bound up and on his knees on his berthroom floor. The thought that he couldn’t break the bonds if he tried had heat coursing through Rodimus’ frame.

“Tell me how I look, Mags,” A devilish smirk played on Rodimus’ lips, “Not something I’d usually wear, but I figured you’d appreciate it. Do you?”

“O-of course,” Magnus’ throat was all too dry, “You look exquisite.” He had long since averted his gaze, focusing more on the floor beneath him instead of the appealing show of Rodimus’ tempting frame, lightly caressed by silken fabrics and white lace that left nothing to the imagination. When did he disengage his paneling?

“C’mon Mags, no fun if you don’t look at me, puppy,” Rodimus’ servos played with the edge of the dress, “Though, looks to me like that rope keeps you from opening up your panels, and your servos are pretty secure behind you, aren’t they? Aw, poor thing.”

The soft pet names alone were putting Magnus in that special frame of mind. He wanted to touch Rodimus, needed it. All the desire only heightened the moment when he felt Rodimus run his digits along his silvery audials.

“I’ll help you, baby, but,” Rodimus’ servo dropped down to Magnus’ jawline, tilting his help up as much as he could manage with the ropes, “You’re going to have to be a very good boy. Now keep those panels shut for me, and keep. Your optics. On me.”


	2. Tribadism/ Scissoring - Drift/ Ratchet

Drift’s exvents came out in short, hot huffs against Rachet’s chassis, the sound running just under the mech’s cooling fans and the restless rustling of the berthsheets below Drift’s side.

The swordsmech barely felt his partner’s servo rest on the small of his back as it rocked back and forth, almost desperately. Ratchet was barely awake, as he had been from the beginning of their little ‘activity’, while Drift was whimpering out needy moans. The latter half had woken up a little handsy, with one thing leading to another (and the fact that Drift got off more on touching Ratchet than the mech did himself,) brought them to where they were.

Drift’s thighs sandwiching one of Rachet’s own as he rutted his valve down onto the medic’s plating. Every now and again, Ratchet would rev his engine, the vibrations shaking the whole berth, but besides that he was rather inactive even as Drift’s hands roamed his frame and toyed with every bit of kibble those dexterous digits could find.

“Ratch’, Ratchet, come on,” He whined, pressing the mesh of his cheek into the chassis before him, “Do something.”

“Looks like you’re getting off on this just fine,” Ratchet’s half asleep voice rumbled above him. Though the two mechs were close to the same age, Ratchet’s constant worrying about the ship, along with his job, have left him worn out most of the time, but Drift never minded much.

“Need you, love you, please,” Drift panted into Ratchet’s frame. The medic responded with a soft grunt of acknowledgement and a hand gently caressing Drift’s finials. The swordsmech moaned and leaned into the touch along his sensor lined plating. Drift increased his efforts as he rolled his hips, anterior node rubbing against the top of Ratchet’s thigh. Above him, Ratchet idly stroked Drift’s finial, optics still half shut and tired.

It didn’t take much longer for Drift to overload, transfluid and lubricants flooding the tight space between the two mechs as he buried his face in Ratchet’s chassis. Drift was almost ready to leave the berth and start the day when he felt, more than heard, his partner’s spike paneling disengage, ready to take part in round two as Ratchet’s arms wrapped around that tiny waist and pulled him closer.


	3. Creampie - Cyclonus/ Tailgate

When Cyclonus had first gotten into a relationship with Tailgate, he was cautious. Far too cautious for his rambunctious minibot partner.

Of course it carried over to the berthroom. Cyclonus would adamantly refuse to spike Tailgate, and most times wouldn’t even get himself off and instead favoring to hear Tailgate’s moaning and feel his valve grinding down against his faceplates. Even that he was worried about doing, fearing that his fangs would catch on something sensitive and harm Tailgate.

All of that caution was thrown to the wind when Cyclonus agreed to the bet. It was some asinine thing that Tailgate was bringing up while they were at Swerve’s. The conversation had been going for a good bit, and somehow it led to the two of them placing a bet on who was going to get thrown out first, and lo and behold, Tailgate won. He had said that nobody was getting thrown out that night while Cyclonus insisted that Rodimus’ childish behavior would be the cause of his removal. When the night came and went, and everything remained fairly peaceful, Tailgate knew that he had won. His prize was being allowed to do whatever he wanted to and with Cyclonus for a full day, a day which was full of treating of all sorts and culminated with the two of them in the berth.

The little minibot straddled Cyclonus hips, pressing Cyclonus’ spike against his abdomen as Tailgate rocked back and forth. Cyclonus had ended up with his back pressed against the berth because while Tailgate had demanded that ‘fill him up’ that night, he wanted to give his little lover complete control, but he did admit that finally feeling the minibot’s plush valve against his spike.

“Frag, Cyclonus,” Tailgate moaned, his anterior node dragging against the ridges on the underside if Cyclonus’ spike. “Can I take you now?” He was getting impatient with how much prep time Cyclonus was making him take. The purple mech’s claws scraped lightly against where they were holding on Tailgate’s thighs as he cranes his head to see how much lubricant he was dripping onto the spike.

“Only if you’re sure,” Cyclonus was well aware that his own patience was wearing thin as well, and it was better not to push it too much before he pinned Tailgate down. “Stop the moment it doesn’t feel good.”

Tailgate wasted no time lifting himself off of the spike and using his digit-tips to guide it to his valve. He barely let it breach him before he was lifting himself off again with a groan.

Little by little, he stretched himself on Cyclonus’ spike, whimpering and moaning the while time until he finally bottomed out, his node pressing against Cyclonus’ pelvic plating. He huffed and waited for a moment causing Cyclonus to look up at him in concern.

“Are you alright?” Cyclonus adjusted his position, moving Tailgate with him, until he was leaning on the wall, propped up to see his partner.

“Yes, just… You’re big for me…” Tailgate felt embarrassed admitting it, his servos coming up to hide his face. Cyclonus held one servo in his own and pressed a kiss to the knuckles,

“We can stop-” He said against the plating, only to be cut off by Tailgate moving again. He pulled himself up, Cyclonus moaning into Tailgate’s servo as his spike was squeezed.

“No, feels good. I think I’m ready to move now.” The smug smile was heard in his voice, pleased that he could make Cyclonus cut himself off. His movements shifted from slow rising and falling to bouncing, their hips meeting every time.

“Tailgate, I-” Cyclonus paused, sucking air in through his fangs and scraping Tailgate’s thighs with his fangs.

“Ah, I’m gonna overload,” Tailgate moaned and picked up his pace, Cyclonus’ spike slamming into every node in his valve with each push. A high pitched, static laced scream coming from his vocalizer as he overloaded, feeling Cyclonus’ hot transfluid gush inside him, filling him up and then some.

The minibot collapsed against Cyclonus chassis, barely having a moment to catch his breath before he was being flipped onto his back and he felt Cyclonus pull back.

The bright mix of transfluid and lubricants oozed out of Tailgate’s used valve, dripping onto the bedsheets and Cyclonus had to calm a second warmth that was pooling inside him, telling him to do it all again. The minibot was thoroughly worn out, chassis rising and falling as he vented. Cyclonus took his place next to him and wrapped an arm around his lover’s frame, hugging him close to his body. He barely registered Tailgate pressing his faceplate into Cyclonus’ clawed hand before they both fell into recharge.


	4. Tentacles & Toys - Brainstorm/ Perceptor

Brainstorm had always been ambitious. He’d create things, he’d make and make, determined to force something new and different into the world, something that someone, someday, could use.

His newest creation, however, was more self indulgent than his usual, and he honestly didn’t mind if he kept it for himself instead of sharing it with the world. Though, he was struggling to find a test subject for it.

That was probably due to the nature of the invention. Guns? Whirl or Skids would gladly go with him up to the shooting range and try them out while he recorded the results. Some kind of concoction? Rodimus was there a hundred percent. But this? Nobody wanted to try this.

But what was ‘this’? Brainstorm held it in his servos, it’s purple hues going nicely against his plating color as he moved it’s weight around. He had maybe had a little too much fun on the most recent planet the ship had stopped off at, gotten a little too fascinated by the organic life. 'This’ was some kind of frag toy that he couldn’t name for the life of him. Purple with and almost pink underside, the belly of it lined with miniature 'suction cups’ which would actually allow the thing to grow and push on a bot’s inner nodes easily. He’d programed it with a menu of various things it could do with a push of a button on it’s remote control. It could grow, shrink, and move on it’s own and Brainstorm was aching to try it out.

But nobody volunteered. Nobody who he usually asked at least, which was almost all the crew, the only exceptions being Megatron, Magnus, Cyclonus, and-

The door to his lab rang out with a metallic knock. Someone was on the other side. Brainstorm rapidly shoved the toy into one of his desk drawers and stood up from his seat to answer the door. He pulled it open and was greeted by the familiar face of his lab partner, and one of the bots he had neglected to ask about his trial run, Perceptor.

“Brainstorm,” He greeted, “I was just at Swerve’s and he had told me that you had something to ask me about?” Damn, and Brainstorm thought that the bartender might keep a secret just once? He had been musing about the lack of agreeable participants in the bar earlier, he hadn’t expected that Serve was actually listening in to him.

“Brainstorm? Are you alright?” Perceptor let himself into the lab as he stepped closer to the jet, who in turn stepped back. With a quick response, he assured Perceptor that he was quite alright. “If you insist, but,” Percy tilted his head, “What was it that Swerve was talking about?”

“Nothing, just having a little bit of trouble finding a good test subject for something.” Brainstorm hoped that it was enough of an answer to convince his lab partner to leave him alone.

“Well, if that’s all you needed, I’m certain that I could assist you.” Perceptor further entered the laboratory. Brainstorm almost physically pushed him away, but instead opted to follow him in his meandering path through the lab, casually glancing at whatever new creation littered the area.

“I don’t think it’s something you’d want to be involved in,” Brainstorm insisted.

“Is it ethically dubious or utterly ridiculous?”

“No, but -”

“Then I don’t see the issue.”

Brainstorm rolled his optics before reaching for the handle of his desk drawer, deciding that it would be better just to show him. He reached in and pulled out the 'thing’ before handing to over to Perceptor, who inspected it in his servos.

“I-It’s a frag toy, if you couldn’t tell.” The jet was usually so enthusiastic about showing off his newest creation, the sheepishness in his voice was almost alarming. “Look, you don’t have to make good on your offer, it’s better if you just go.”

“Why would I do that?” Perceptor ran his thumb along the underside, feeling the soft suction cups on his digit, “You seem to think I’m adverse to such exploits.”

“Y-you’re not?”

“I have no reason to be,” He leaned back on the edge of Brainstorm’s desk, “This sort of curiosity is curiosity all the same, and being curious is what fuels scientific endeavors, is it not?”

“I guess you’re right, um- this-”

“We can just get started, if you’d like.”

Brainstorm could do nothing but nod, optics wide. He’d never expected such things from Perceptor, and he mentally reprimanded himself for not asking sooner. He took the toy from Perceptor’s servos and guided him over to a lab table while explaining the basic functions and what it could do.

“Sounds simple enough,” Percy said before hopping up on the cold metal table. Brainstorm picked up a bottle of medical lubricant from the stand next to the table before positioning himself between Perceptor’s legs.

“I’ll just, um, set it up before I get to recording.” His servo ran along the outside of Percy’s thigh. The other chuckled,

“It’s almost amusing seeing how embarrassed you are about this,” He leaned back on his elbows, “This is nothing too strange, Brainstorm.”

“I know, I’ve just- I haven’t done this before. Open for me?” He requested politely, pouring a generous amount of lubricant along the length of the toy. Perceptor’s valve cover transformers aside, giving Brainstorm full access to the plush valve hidden behind it. He felt a momentary urge to abandon the test and see if Percy was willing to properly frag, right there on the table. Instead, he lined the toy up with Percy’s valve and pushed in. It wasn’t that big, the mech had no problem taking it in one thrust, especially since it had so much lubricant on it that it was forming a puddle beneath Perceptor’s aft.

Brainstorm sat back and picked up his data pad and the remote to the toy, thumb gently running over the button as he set up his pad to take notes.

“Alright, let’s start out with speed one.” Brainstorm pushed the button and a single green light lit up on the top of the remote. Perceptor gasped as he felt the toy begin moving inside of him, undulating in an odd, weirdly organic way. It pressed up and down against his calipers, ground on his nodes, and sent a dull him of pleasure to his processor.

“Doing alright with speed one, moving on to speed two.” Brainstorm once again increased the speed and Perceptor started slowly rolling his hips, as though it would help him at all.

“Come on, Brainstorm. Is that all?” He taunted. He was enjoying himself, but he wanted to see if he could get the jet to do something rash.

“Foregoing speed three,” Brainstorm pressed the button twice and shot it up to speed four. The toy began to vibrate, along with its wild undulations inside of the mech’s valve. Perceptor’s support fell out from under him and his elbows slid outwards, landing him on his back as he grasped the edges of the table, a static coated moan being ripped from his vocalizer. His spike panel disengaged and Brainstorm got an optic full of Perceptor’s thick spike, bobbing with every buck of his hips.

“Now, now, you’re not allowed to touch yourself,” Brainstorm said, “It’d mess with the results. Keep your hands to your sides.” He didn’t even warn Perceptor before turning on the special feature of the toy. It swelled and pressed up against Perceptor’s walls, forcing his calipers to stretch and expand just to accommodate it.

“Brainstorm! Ah!” He had never felt so full. Brainstorm pushed the toy up to five and he could see the indent in Perceptor’s abdomen just from the sheer size of it. The mech screamed, his grip on the lab table tightening enough to dent it as he overloaded, transfluid gushing and bubbling out from the tight space around the toy. Brainstorm quickly shut it off, not looking to overload the mech into a reboot.

“Got some good results, here. How was it?” He asked nonchalantly, rolling on his desk chair over to Percy. The scientist gave him a thumbs up, still catching his breath. “You know, multiple tests always do improve results…”

“Sure,” Perceptor panted, “But you’re the test subject next time.”


	5. Human Furniture & Overstimulation - Swerve/ Misfire

It was planned, of course it was. Neither party would spring something like this on the other, especially for their first time exploring the territory. Misfire strode into the habsuite and picked up a couple of cubes of energon from the fridge, and a datapad of reading material off of the kitchen counter. He placed them down on his table and left for the berthroom. 

It just so happened that ‘his table’ was Swerve’s back and the mech was in his servos and knee joints right next to the couch. When Misfire returned, bullet vibrator in his servo, Swerve eagerly opened his panel.

Wordlessly, Misfire secured the toy to Swerve’s node and turned it on the lowest setting, before placing the remote on top of Swerve’s back, next to the cubes. Swerve had underestimated how much he’d want to talk, to hold Misfire’s hand, press up against him, to do anything, but tables don’t do any of that.

And cubes? Really? A datapad or two, he could handle, but energon cubes full to the brim and ready to spill over? Swerve had to be extra careful. Misfire turned up the incessant buzzing of the vibrator and returned to his reading, picking up a cube to sip.

Swerve whined and he could feel the stern glare Misfire shot him. The minibot adored being gentle and loving, and it suited him well when his partner reciprocated, but being used as an object struck a chord in him that shot pleasure through his spinal strut as he felt his spark whirling in it’s casing. 

Misfire, on the other hand, was also getting off on being stern and dominant for his little lover. It wasn’t something he’d do often, for sure, but once in a while he wouldn’t mind bossing Swerve around a bit.

Swerve gasped as his spike panel disengaged and his elbows almost buckled. He knew the safeword, he could get out if he wanted, but to leave the scene was the furthest thing from his processor.

Misfire finished his first energon cube and picked up the second one from Swerve’s back, placing the empty one down in it’s place. He reached over and pressed the button on the vibrator, turning it up to it’s highest speed. Swerve’s frame shook, his plating rattling on his body as he overloaded. Even with his hood in the way, Misfire could see the bright blue light glowing from the minibot’s optics as he painted the floor with his transfluid. Misfire turned the buzzing down a notch, but didn’t stop it entirely. 

Bright pink ran down Swerve’s thighs as his valve cycled down on nothing and he couldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t stop overloading, not with Misfire not letting him. He fell forward as his elbows gave, dropping his chassis and faceplates to the floor. 

The datapad and empty cube slid off of his back and onto the ground next to him. His servos tightened into fists and his knees drew close together as a second overload hit him. A static covered groan was ripped from his vocalizer, despite how much he wanted to stay silent for Misfire. 

A third overload surprised him. It felt like his insides were being twisted in the best way possible and he bit down on his digits to stifle the moan that came with it. His pleasure addled processor couldn’t keep track of how many more overloads hit him, but Misfire turned off the vibrator just when Swerve was teetering on the edge of a reboot. 

He had more or less curled up into a ball by that point, sitting back on his folded legs with his forearms still pressed into the floor. His transfluid tanks felt completely drained as he realized just how much of a mess he’d made beneath him. He was breathless as he exvented from his spot on the floor. He sharply felt a pair of servos brace underneath his arms and suddenly he had been moved and placed in Misfire’s lap.

“How was that?” The con asked. All Swerve could do was drop his helm onto Misfire’s shoulder and nod.


	6. Body Worship & Frottage - Cyclonus/ Tailgate

Keeping a minibot lover wasn’t anything to out of the ordinary for any larger counterpart. Cyclonus and Tailgate were no exception, but out of the two of them, Tailgate was more self conscious. From the time he had started to keep up the facade of being a bomb disposal bot to now, he hadn’t exactly picked up his confidence much. Maybe on the outside, once he got his power up, he became cock and little self centered to everyone else, but when he was alone in the berthroom with Cyclonus, he was just the same, ordinary bot that he had always been. 

And Cyclonus wasn’t going to stand for that. He wasn’t going to let his partner think of himself as ‘just another bot’. The purple mech spent every moment he could making Tailgate feel loved. Adoring his body. Adoring him. This was one such moment. 

Cyclonus had just turned on the water in the washracks and taken the nozzle off of it’s holder. He scoffed as Tailgate shivered at the sudden burst of warmth across his plating as Cyclonus began to attend to every nick and scratch, and every speck of dirt on his partner’s frame. His skilful claws turned Tailgate around and began working on his neck plating as the minoby braced his servos on the tiled wall in front of him. He was truly grateful that they almost always had the washracks to themselves, as though they were public to their section of the ship, Cyclonus and Tailgate did reside in the most empty sector.

Cyclonus let his servos work down Tailgate’s body, expert claw tips massaging all the tension out of Tailgate’s wires, charge building slowly and steadily in the both of them. Cyclonus’ servos dropped down to Tailgate’s hips and they began playing and twisting th sensitive wiring in the plating’s cracks. Tailgate gasped and grabbed onto Cyclonus’ servo. 

“So beautiful,” Cyclonus leaned down and murmured into Tailgate’s shoulder plating, “How did I get to know such an amazing bot?" 

"W-well, you’re really nice yours-aah!” Tailgate began, but cut himself off with a gasp as Cyclonus pinched a particularly sensitive wire. His valve panel disengaged, lubricant flooding the space between his legs. Cyclonus hung the nozzle back up, but left the warm water running. He disengaged spike panel and let his spike pressurize between Tailgate’s thighs. He rutted back and forth in the slick heat, bearly hearing the sound of the running water as both of their cooling systems clicked on. 

The steam clogging their vents and coping fans fogged their minds, reducing their interfacing to heated, uncoordinated grinding as Tailgate paled the tip of Cyclonus’ spike whenever it poked through his legs. Between the clouded processor, Tailgate’s efforts, and his adoration, Cyclonus was coating the minibot’s servos in transfluid. As his spike depressurized, Tailgate pushed back into Cyclonus’ frame, 

“Come on, Cy’…” He whined. Cyclonus wordlessly reached over and turned the water off, then picked up Tailgate, managing to steady his shaking legs as he carried his partner back to the berthroom. Hugging Tailgate, Cyclonus fell onto his back with the minibot resting on top of his chassis. Tailgate ground down on nothing, pressing his pelvic plating to Cyclonus’ frame. 

The larger mech grabbed his partner and spun him around, immediately nuzzling into his valve. Tailgate gasped and tried to move, only to be stopped by Cyclonus’ grip. His tiny white servos wandered as Cyclonus dragged his gloss in the folds of his minibot’s valve. They found Cyclonus’ valve plating and began tracing the seam. It took half a second for Cyclonus to pop his panel to be used by those little servos as they slicked up and down, barely penetrating Cyclonus’ opening. 

“Tailgate, so good…” Cyclonus moaned into Tailgate’s valve. “I’m-" 

"Frag, Cyclonus, I’m close! You’d better not stop, ah!” Tailgate pushed as much of his servo he could into Cyclonus valve as he pushed back and overloaded into his partner’s face, coating his plating in dripping, bright pink. Cyclonus’ legs squeezed around Tailgate’s servo and overloaded as well. When Tailgate managed to free his servo from Cyclonus’ vice grip, he turned around, and dropped into recharge on Cyclonus’ chassis, with that clawed servo petting his back.


	7. Masturbation, Collaring, Orgasm Denial, Petplay - Rodimus/ Ultra Magnus

Rodimus had decided to be a little adventurous. It wasn’t something he’d do ordinarily, not so close to the start of him and Magnus picking back up on their little hobby, but the big bot said that he’d like to try. So they did.

Rodimus spent the first hour of his morning putting Magnus in petspace, turning him into that lovey dovey, touchy feely pet that he was. Rodimus strapped his collar onto him neck cabling, and slid his paws over his servos, then left.

He’d decided that he would only be gone for an hour, two at most. He figured that Magnus could take a nap or keep himself occupied with something for the time being, but Mags found that he was having a harder time than he had expected.

He laid on top of their shared berth, stretching out and pressing his front into the sheets. It was an odd experience, not having all of his protruding kibble on his frame, but he didn’t mind. Where normally had thick armor plating was now more sensitive without it. He could feel more and more easily, enjoy every fleeting touch that Rodimus servos had to offer.

With his processor wandering, it didn’t take long for Magnus to change his position from laying flat on his front to arching his hips up, pressing his chassis down into the berth. He didn’t even know what he wanted as his temperature climbed slowly and steadily. He could have sworn that his cooling fans turned on much sooner than they needed to, but the heat was already clouding his thoughts.

What did he want? He wanted his servos. His servos which were currently covered by a pair of mittens that forced them into loose fists beneath the thick material of the glove itself. He sat up, sitting back on his legs. He needed his servos. His modestly paneling hadn’t even disengaged yet and he was already trying to figure out just how to get rid of the persistent charge that was coating his every move, every thought. He had no clue where Rodimus’ toy chest was, and his wasn’t exactly stocked with much, especially not a lot that wouldn’t require his digits.

He whimpered and leaned back, seeing that his spike paneling had moved aside without his knowledge. He was about to crawl off the berth when his spike rubbed up against something, almost immediately making him collapse. What was that? He twisted his helm around and lifted his hips to see that one of the berth’s pillows had been left halfway down the berth from earlier that morning.

Magnus didn’t think twice before pushing his paws down on the pillow, folding it over to the best of his abilities before rutting his spike into it. He huffed and panted, his chassis dropping, pressing his face into the sheets beneath him. Without anybody to please, he didn’t have to take his time, he could chase his overload until he could relieve himself of that insistent-

“Looks like you’re having fun, big guy.” Rodimus was leaning on the doorframe to the berthroom. Either Mags internal clocks were malfunctioning or-

“I’m early. Finished up what I had to do on the bridge, decided to come right back to my puppy.” Rodimus was already climbing onto the berth. Magnus fell onto his back, bent legs still holding onto the pillow as he moved, it moved with him. Rodimus pulled the pillow away from Mags and got closer, fitting himself easily in between Magnus’ thighs. He slipped down and pressed his lips to Magnus’ spike, barely pressing the soft mesh against his straining, hot, and leaking member.

“Love your spike,” Rodimus whispered against it, “Haven’t taken you like this in a while, now have I?” He laughed when Magnus feebly tried to buck up. He wouldn’t move with his full force, not with Rodimus nearby.

Rodimus pressed soft mouthed kisses along the length of Magnus’ spike until he got to the tip, then he slowly worked his glossa over it, tasting the mech’s lubricant. Magnus’ vents hissed and sputtered, he leaned back and pressed his shoulder blades into the berth. His paws came up to his faceplates and his back arched, but he kept his hips as still as possible for Rodimus. The speedster knew all of his pet’s tells, and he could tell he was getting close.

So he moved. Rodimus let his lips come off of Magnus’ spike with a wet ‘pop’, and he sat back on his legs and watched as he pet whined and bucked fruitlessly, twisting his body and searching for something. Rodimus climbed to straddle Magnus and sat, pressing his valve onto the top of Magnus spike, which was being pushed onto Mags’ abdomen.

“Now,” Rodimus gave an experimental grind, the slickness of his valve letting him move on top of Magnus’ spike, “Don’t move, and don’t overload before me.” He leaned forwards and hooked his finger into the silver loop on Magnus’ collar. He rolled his hips and it took everything in Magnus’ power to not try to move with him.

More than anything, Magnus wanted to frag that wet heat, push inside Rodimus though he had never done such before. He was always reluctant to try, fearful of hurting his sun, but now he found himself wanting it more than anything. Rodimus pushed him to the edge again, before stopping and lifting off of his spike to give him some time to recover. He did so again and again, leaning forward into Magnus’ chassis.

Rodimus took one of Magnus’ paws in his servo, gently kneading it with his digits, as though he was bored. His field told a different story. It reached wildly and erratically for Magnus’, which fared no better. The little speedster was getting close and Magnus knew it. The ex-enforcer abandoned all thought and used his paws to hold Rodimus to the best of their ability while Magnus bucked up, Rodimus bouncing on top of him. He didn’t know if the speedster had either forgotten his rule, or didn’t care, but Rodimus made no move to stop Magnus as he pushed them both over the edge.

Their fields burned bright as they mingled and mixed, pressed just as close as the mech were, Magnus moving his paws to Rodimus’ back as he held him close. Rodimus let out an ecstatic moan into Magnus’ chassis, the other’s engine roaring over every sound in the room.

Rodimus came down from his floaty high first, using his digit to trace invisible patterns into Magnus’ armor until his pet came back to him.

“So, puppy,” He sang, “Should I leave you alone more often?”


	8. Fucking Machine - Brainstorm/ Perceptor

“Ah! Ah, frag, Percy!” Brainstorm wailed. The pistoning machine drove the fake spike into Brainstorm’s valve again and again, ripping overload after overload out of him. Perceptor wasn’t kidding when he said he’d be up for round two of experimenting sometime, and that he wanted Brainstorm to be the subject. 

The mech had strapped Brainstorm’s shins to his thighs, folding his legs in half and anchoring them to the lab table. His wings, pressed to the table, would twitch and slide and flutter whoever they could, begging to be touched. The jet’s wrists were secured high above his head where they weakly pawed at the air and formed tight fists whenever another overload was forced out of him. 

The one shiny, silver table had become coated in bright pink transfluid and lubricant, shimmering and dropping down the edges of the surface. Brainstorm had absolutely covered his cockpit in transfluid after just the acid overload. He didn’t even know how many he’d had by now. Whatever inhibition he had was dashed as Perceptor played with the dial on the remote to the machine. He sped it up and slowed it down at unpredictable intervals, but just as Brainstorm was coaxed down from an overload high by the slow pace of the gentle sldiging in and out of him, Perceptor would remind him of how brutal the experiment is. 

He had gotten Brainstorm to agree to it before he tied him to the table. See how many overloads it would take to make him reboot. That as the deal, but each overload was making Brainstorm ache, warnings for low transfluid reserves popping up in his visual feed. To top it all off, his spark was exposed. Perceptor had suggested it after maybe the sixth overload, and by that point Brainstorm was too delirious to think anything of it. 

Perceptor stepped away from his desk and towards Brainstorm, remote still in his servo. The scientist was interested in the experiment, sure, he was still keeping track of the number of overloads, but he had just gotten a little bored. He walked around the table, adoring Brainstorm from every angle, but not touching him. 

“Percy, Percy, ohhh, it’s so much,” He whimpered, unsure if to try to get away from or closer to the source of the pleasure. “Please, please, oh, pleasepleasePercypleaseIneedit-” He didn’t know what he was asking for, but Perceptor did. Percy tapped twice on Brainstorm’s chest and watched as the jet willingly bore his spark for him. Either he truly wanted it, or he was too delirious to care anymore. 

Perceptor leaned down and removed Brainstorm’s faceplate, setting it aside on the lab table next to them. He released the cuffs on Brainstorm’s wrists and held one servo in his own. Perceptor tangled his digits in Brainstorm’s as they pressed their lips together. Perceptor dominated the jet, the other’s processor too fogged to even think about what to do. Perceptor reached his free hand down and let it rest on Brainstorm’s spark casing. He didn’t need full, direct access to a spark, in all his years he’d learned to do amazing things with just the casing. 

Brainstorm’s whole frame shuddered, his legs straining in their restraints and wings flapping wildly as he overloaded. And overloaded. And overloaded. He couldn’t tell where one climax began and the other ended, the highs bleeding into each other in one overwhelming state of pleasure. He didn’t know how long he had been in that state, but the next thing he realized was that he was on one of the lab’s beds, and his whole frame was aching. He held his helm in one of his servos, 

“So, how’d I do?” he asked. At a nearby desk, Perceptor chuckled, 

“Twenty eight.”


	9. Public Sex, AU- Longarm isn't Shockwave - Blurr/Longarm

He was ravishing. Absolutely stunning. There was no way he didn’t know it, and all Longarm wanted to do was taunt Blurr. His suit was overly tight, the speedster wondered how he moved at all. It wrapped around his thick thighs and flattered him in every single way. Though the elements of their suits were identical, Blurr couldn’t help but feel self conscious in his.

It wasn’t his idea to go to this event. It was for socializing, repairing relations with the decepticons. Longarm had insisted that he tag along with him and Blurr was only just realizing how much of a fool he was to agree. He hadn’t anticipated Longarm socializing with everyone but him. Of course, why would he anchor himself to his little speedster, anyways? Especially when there are so many decepticons to repair relations with, or whatever the objective was there.

Longarm helf his champagne flute in one servo and rested the other on his hip. How did he move in those pants? Blurr was still seated at the mini bar area, his toe cap idly playing with the wheel on his other pede, just under the custom hemmed edge of his suit pants. Longarm had offered to get his pants tailored to his linking by the same tailor he used, but the agent turned him down for all but the necessities. He didnt get his jacket or shirt altered, he didn’t taper his pant legs, all he did was make the legs shorter. Longarm was at a much higher rank in the forces, he had made a lot more shanix over his time on the job and he could afford much more than Blurr ever could. The two of them were living together in the same large apartment, and Blurr liked to think that they were ‘a thing’, but he didn’t know where Longarm stood on that.

Longarm must’ve noticed Blurr’s distant, idle stare, slowly glancing around the room just to make sure that nobody thought he was staring at them. He approached his agent, taking the seat next to his.

“Blurr, are you enjoying the event?” He asked, though he knew the answer.

“Of course,” That wasn’t the answer. “Are you, sir?” Blurr knew to use the titles in formal events or in public places.

“We can leave, if you’d like,”

Longarm was well aware that the speedster was unaccustomed to crowds. He took part in races back on Cybertron, but he’d flee the scene as soon as he’d collected any prizes.

“Oh, I wouldn’t make you do that, sir!” Blurr leaned back in his seat, his servos in neat little fists on his lap. Longarm leaned forward to hold one of his servos in his own,

“If this event is making you uncomfortable, we can go somewhere else,” His servo slipped from Blurr’s to run up and down the on the top of the speedster’s thigh. Blurr squirmed at the touch, he was far too unused to wearing fabric over his plating, which already barely covered his protoform. “We can go somewhere more private?”

“I-I’d like to go andgetsomeairifyou'dexcusemesir!” Blurr was already halfway out the door before he’d finished his sentence.

The heavy wooden doors led out to the foyer which was lined with doors. Blurr bolted down the one that said it led to the courtyard. If he could get outside, he’d be able to cool his head.

The courtyard was expansive and beautiful in the moonlight, the white light catching on the marble stones that paved the ground and surrounded the garden’s foliage. Just off to the side, in a spot shaded from the light, were several tall trees. Blurr found his pedes leading him there without his processor making them. He was behind one of the wide tree trunks when he shoved his servo down the pants of his suit, his belt and zipper long since undone.

His lubricants were soaking through his panels, wetting his briefs. He was thankful that he didn’t cause a stain down the front of his pants as he forced them further down his legs to ensure the fact. He opened his panels and immediately and plunged two digits into his plush valve. He tried to imagine they were Longarm’s but he knew very well that just one of Longarm’s digits was thicker than two of his own. He whimpered as he pushed his back against the tree, praying that nobody else was outside-

“My- Blurr?” Scrap. “Is this where you’d run off to?”

Blurr heard the soft crunching of grass beneath Longarm’s pede’s as he tread off of the paved path and into the foliage, following the sound if Blurr’s exvents and cooling fans.

“Aaah! Sir!” Blurr’s eyes went wide and he dropped down to sit on the floor as Longarm finally found him, despite the speedster doing his best to hide himself.

Longarm immediately picked Blurr up, his servo’s under Blurr’s arms, and pushed him up against the tree. He pressed his lips to Blurr’s, the younger bot eagerly pushing into Longarm, one servo holding onto a lapel, the other still in his briefs.

Longarm put Blurr down and took out his spike,

“Show me your valve, darling,” Longarm demanded, servo idly stroking his spike.

“N-not here, sir! Anyone could see us and what would happen if we get caught?” Despite his protests, Blur shakingly and slowly pulled his briefs down. He didn’t get them past his knees before Longarm picked him up and forced his spike into him. Blurr squawked indignantly and reached to grab onto Longarm.

“Oh, what would happen indeed? An agent and his superior officer, at a peace convention, no less,” Longarm punctuated his words with slow, grinding thrusts, “Outside where anyone could see us. Would you like that, Blurr? Someone spotting us and asking if they could join in?”

Blurr whined and tried to bounce against Longarm’s hips, but he didn’t let him.

“Maybe they wouldn’t want to join us, maybe they’d just want a show. What about that, Blurr? I’ve seen the way you flare your plating and puss your chest when someone pays attention to you. You’d love it,” Longarm leaned his helm next to Blurr’s audial, growling fantasies to him as the speedster writhed in his grasp.

“L-Longarm, sir! Please, sir, oh, pleasesirpleaseIneeditpleasedon'tstop!” He rambled as he pressed his helm into Longarm’s shoulder, hiccupping and gasping. Blurr’s vents hitched and sputtered, even high performance systems had trouble keeping up.

“You close, darling? Want me to overload inside you and have you walk around with my transfluid behind your panels? Maybe I won’t let your close your panels at all, maybe you’ll just have to hope none of it leaks out, won’t you?”

“Sir! Sir! Ah! I’m close, oh I’m going to overload, ah! Sir, I'mgonnaoverloadI’m-!” His rambling shot up into a high, needy, moan, his hips stuttering as he pushed down onto Longarm and felt hot transfluid fill him. He swore he could see his spark light through his chest plate as his vision shorted out and his body forced a reboot.

When he woke up, he was in Longarm’s lap, sitting under a tree in the courtyard, fully dressed. It was still dark, which was a blessing.

“You think you’re ready to go home, now?” Longarm asked, stroking down his back.

“Y-yes, sir. We can get back through the way we came.”

“Good, now be a good bot and keep your panels open while we go, okay?”

“Y-… Yes, sir.”


	10. Bukkake, Petplay - Rodimus/Ultra Magnus

Rodimus let his engine purr against Magnus’ lips as his pet fondly cleaned his Captain of the energon syrup that the speedster had not-so-accidentally spilled on himself that morning. When Rodimus was putting Magnus in his pet gear so early, the ex-enforcer had expected something different, though he didn’t mind what he was tasked with at the moment. His hot exvents made tiny patches of wet condensation as he moved down from Rodimus’ chest to his abdominals. The speedster tapped his pet’s helm, drawing his attention upwards where an energon treat was being held in between slender yellow digits.

Magnus took the treat in his dentae, then continued to clean his Captain. Rodimus had been feeding him, filling his tanks with extra treats on top of his breakfast. Magnus had been satiated before, but now the pleasant push of being properly full gave an extra ounce of charge to his systems. His spark surged with pride whenever Rodimus would stroke and pet his helm, rewarding him for a job well done. He made it to Rodimus’ pelvic armor, glossa impatiently laving over his spike paneling after quickly cleaning it of the sticky syrup.

“Now now, puppy.” Rodimus nudge Magnus’ helm away. He must’ve felt his pet’s field prickling with dejection, because his next move was to hold Magnus’ helm in both servos and kiss him. He tasted the sweet syrup and treats on Magnus’ glossa as he slowly stood up from his seat, Magnus following suit, trying not to break the kiss as he leaned into his Captain. Rodimus finally pulled away to lead Magnus to the berthroom, “I’ve got another idea.”

He pushed Magnus to sit on the edge of the berth, not letting his pet pull his legs up and instead having him keep his pedes on the floor and spread his thighs. Mags listened, albeit a little puzzled as he did so. Rodimus knelt down and traced the tip of his digit along the seam of Magnus’ interface panel. It immediately snapped back at his touch, Magnus’ thick spike more than filling Rodimus’ servo.

“Good puppy, but I didn’t ask you to do that, now did I?” He laughed, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to the tip and enjoying the shiver he felt in Magnus’ thighs. Rodimus stood and stepped out of the room, returning shortly with the plate of energon treats. He laid them on the berth next to Magnus’ hips, “I want you to finish those. If that plate isn’t finished, I won’t love you up, okay, puppy?”

Magnus nodded eagerly as Rodimus dropped back down to his knees. He pressed a couple open mouthed kisses to the sides of his spike, quick laps of his glossa following. He took the tip of Mags’ spike into his mouth and reached over with one servo to pick up a treat and drop it into Magnus’ paws. The pet happily ate it as Rodimus continued his efforts. 

He struggled with taking Magnus’ spike more than half way, he obviously didn’t have the ‘skills’ that everyone assumed he did. Though, Magnus didn’t seem to mind as he barely restrained himself from pushing his hips up to try to meed Rodimus’ lips. The speedster let his field mingle with Magnus’ as he moved his servo in time with his mouth, slowly taking Magnus’ spike as he wrapped his digits around the base. His glossa teased at the ridges as he handed Magnus another treat.

Hesitantly, Magnus took the treat from Rodimus. He had already had so many, his tanks were definitely full, maybe past it. He remembered that he used to often get off to the feeling of being overfull, be he hadn’t in a while. It clouded his processor as less and less energy was devoted to worrying and stressing out, and more of it was put into processing the energon, leaving him open to feeling the full brunt of what Rodimus was doing to him.

The hot exvents, dexterous digits pushing into his transformations seams, the drag of his glossa along his spike, Magnus was feeling all of it. He whimpered and revved his engine, telling Rodimus he was close. The speedster pulled off of Magnus’ spike with a parting kiss to the tip and a smirk on his lips,

“Remember puppy, you don’t overload until that tray is empty.” Rodimus looked over at the tray, still two energon treats on it. Magnus whined and looked at the berthsheets. The Captain climbed up onto Magnus lap, each of their framed equally hot as they pushed against each other. Rodimus took one of the treats and pushed it against Magnus’ lips. The ex-enforcer took it warily and consumed it without much trouble, but Rodimus knew that he wasn’t going to make him eat the other one so easily. Magnus took it in his mouth and held it for a split second before Rodimus was pressing their lips against each other. He let his glossa slip into Mags’ mouth, pushing against the treat, prompting his pet to swallow. He took the command, bucking his hips up against Rodimus’ aft as he did.

“Was that so hard?” Rodimus dropped back down between Magnus’ legs, licking his lips. With his little game played, he picked up the pace and engulfed half of Magnus’ spike, feeling it force its way down his intakes. Rodimus took his busy hand off of Mags’ spike and used it, along with his other, to brace against Magnus’ legs as he felt them tremble and threaten to shut on him. One, two more licks and Magnus was overloading, paws over his face. 

Transfluid poured from his spike, absolutely drenching Rodimus’ face and chassis, painting him silvery-pink in his partner’s arousal as he failed to catch most of it in his mouth. Magnus’ field and spark surged with brightness, Rodimus feeling his own plating tingle and heat just from the discharge. When Magnus stopped frantically thrusting up, Rodimus sat back on his legs,

“Oh, puppy. Looks like you got another mess to clean up.”


	11. Dirty Talk, Voice Kink, Petplay - Rodimus/ Ultra Magnus

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, puppy?” Rodimus purred into his comm. He was currently trapped up in his office, and Magnus was in the room, but that didn’t stop him from putting his pet into that special headspace.

No gear, no petting, Magnus couldn’t exactly fully get there, but without his paws, at least he could ha e some fun on his own. He was halfway into petspace, and half out, his processor cloudy but he could still talk. He moved his hips up and down on the false spike he’d suctioned to the floor of their habsuite. He hadn’t had the chance to properly enjoy himself on one of his toys for a while, his valve was overly sensitive as he ground down.

“I know you’d like me to be there with you, maybe I’d shove my fist in your valve like I did before? That’d be better than that toy, wouldn’t it?” Rodimus had locked his door and sat down behind his desk, leaning on the surface as he spoke, holding his comm in one hand and his spike in the other.

“Sir,” Magnus whined, pushing his hips down and hearing his valve take the toy easily. It was a tough task to find something big enough for him, and because of it his motions were more rolling than just bouncing up and down. He had to buck and shift his hips to get the toy to reach the nodes he needed it to. His digits were too big to play with his wires too, not like Rodimus’, which could seek out and tug on any wire he wanted to beneath Magnus’ plating.

“Maybe I wouldn’t fist you, maybe I’d just pet you. Your helm, your chassis, your abdominals, I know how much you get off on that,” Rodimus growled. He was pleased to hear Magnus’ shaky moaning from the other side of the comm. His servo slowly worked his spike in time with the wet sounds of Magnus’ playing from the line. Though, he knew if he didn’t pick up the speed, Magnus would finish long before him just because of his voice.

“Sir, Sir, oh,” Magnus panted with each downward thrust, trying his best to make the fake spike hit his ceiling node. He leaned back and angled himself, digits roaming down his body as he did.

“You trying to play with your wires, puppy?” Magnus could hear Rodimus’ smirk over the comm, “I know you love it when I do that. When I run my servos up and down your frame, get my digits between your plating, pinch and tug your wires, I know you wish I was there doing that,”

“Master,” Magnus sped up his thrusts, digits circling his outer node.

Rodimus knew very well that Magnus didn’t typically call him that. That was his name for Megatron, not him. The speedster chalked it up to the fact that it was the first time in a while Magnus was getting his valve fragged.

“My Captain…” Magnus whined, “I want to hear you, Sir,”

“Are you touching yourself, puppy? I know you’re close, you don’t demand this much unless you are.” Rodimus disengaged his valve panel and pushed his digits into himself, electing to ignore his spike, “If I were there, I’d have you frag me. I’d lay you down on the berth and take control, I wouldn’t let you touch yourself. I wouldn’t let you touch me. What do you think of that? Me on top of you, bouncing on your spike?”

“Sir, please!” Magnus moans. Rodimus let out a breathy laugh, decided that he didn’t want to miss the show,

“Hey, puppy, you aren’t allowed to overload til I get there, alright? I’ll be off shift in ten minutes, if you can wait for me.” He pulled his digits out of his valve, rubbing them through his petals and teasing his node, “Of course, you can overload now, if you really want. Though, I won’t be there to help you. It’s your choice.”

“Sir, please, I need you…” Magnus whined. Rodimus absolutely savored the desperate, needy words he got out of his pet when he talked with him over the comms like this.

“I want you to stay on the line, okay puppy? See you in ten.”


	12. Cuckolding, Threesome - Rodimus/Ultra Magnus/ Megatron

Rodimus purred, guiding Megatron’s servos along his yellow chassis, the other mech feeling the gentle humming of Rodimus’ engine and spark beneath the plating. Though the large gray mech was the one touching him, that wasn’t where Rodimus’ attention was. No, he was more focused on Magnus, who was braced with his knees and paws on the floor, helm peeking over the foot of the berth that Rodimus and Megatron were kneeling on.

The two mechs knew their role, as opposed to Magnus’. They were the masters, he was the pet. Usually, they worked together to please all three of them, but that night they seemed to be working against their darling pet, running their servos along each other’s frames while Magnus was forced to watch from the foot of the bed.

Magnus didn’t typically speak in pet mode, but for good measure, Rodimus had secured a flat panel muzzle to his face, a smooth piece of thick cloth of some sort that covered Magnus’ lips and chin. The little prime knew that just having his pet know that he couldn’t kiss them would be another form of torture in and of itself. On top of the muzzle, Magnus’ paw gloves made his servos useless to him, another assurance that he wouldn’t get any pleasure unless Rodimus or Megatron gave it to him.

Rodimus laid on his back, keeping his thighs pressed together to give Megatron something to frag. The warlord’s spike was big, just like Magnus’, and that meant that both were to large for Rodimus to take in his valve. He had tried before, never made it very far. All of the party just agreed fragging his thick thighs was a better route to take. 

The way Rodimus had positioned himself put his head at the foot of the berth, he could reach Magnus and stroke his helm, an allowance he took advantage of while Megatron drew pleasure from him. The gray spike slicked over Rodimus’ valve, spreading lubricant along the space between his thighs as Megatron held them closed.

Rodimus let his servos stroke and pet Magnus’ helm, his pet all too eagerly pushing into them, whining as he did. Megatron pushed more and more, faster and faster as he hammered into Rodimus’ thighs. The speedster felt his legs shaking in his grip as his overload drew close, his charge rising from the feedback from both his partners. It didn’t help that his EM field was meshing with Magnus’ which was filled with nothing but want and need for his Captain.

Megatron growled as he overloaded, coating Rodimus chassis in silver-pink transfluid. Rodimus snuck a servo down to his valve and rubbed circles over his node until he was seeing stars and overloading as Megatron withdrew his spike. The speedster’s spark and field surged as spots overtook his visual feed, his optics shining in brilliant, bright white. He barely registered the EM feedback, and Magnus pushing further into his servo, until he came down from his high.

Rodimus rolled onto his servos and knees, peering down at his puppy who looked away from him. Rodimus reached down and put a servo on Magnus’ shoulder, then pushed him back and made him sit on his knees, his frame no longer hiding the messy streaks of transfluid on the floor and the edge of the berthsheets.

“Looks like all three of us could use a little cleaning,” Rodimus leaned down and removed the gag from Magnus’ mouth, “How about we get our puppy to help us with that?”


	13. Shibari, Size Difference - Cyclonus/ Tailgate

Tailgate’s tiny digits were good at many things. Winding ropes around his plating one one that Cyclonus wouldn’t have guessed, but he honestly wasn’t shocked when Tailgate came to him with satiny red rope and requested that he tie the larger mech up. Cyclonus agreed, having seen that the mini is capable of taking his spike, he figured that the bot wouldn’t be able to do anything to hurt himself.

Hurt Cyclonus, on the other hand, was something different. While the mech wasn’t hurting, he was definitely desperate. Tailgate had been teasing him for what must have been hours, barely touching him at all.

Cyclonus had a bright red star made of rope, criss crossing over his chassis and traveling across his body from there, tying his arms behind him and his thighs to his shins, forcing him to kneel on the berth. Cyclonus wanted anything, touch Tailgate, to have Tailgate touch him, he just wanted to press his lips to the mini’s spike or valve, make him feel good, he knew Tailgate could tell what he wanted from the way their fields meshed and fused.

Tailgate’s EM field pushed and prodded at Cyclonus’, betraying whatever he said about not wanting to touch his partner. It took gentle mixing of their fields for Cyclonus to coax Tailgate into sitting on his lap. Cyclonus’ spike prodded at Tailgate’s dripping valve, dwarfing it in comparison.

“N-now, I’m going to ride your spike, but, uh, I’m going to do it as fast as I want! And… And you’re not allowed to overload until I do, alright?” Tailgate was trying his hardest to be demanding but Cyclonus couldn’t help but chuckle at the adorable show in front of him.

“Hey,” Tailgate grabbed Cyclonus’ chin and angled his face to look at him, “I didn’t say you could make any noise, did I? Now be quiet…”

Tailgate braced his digits on Cyclonus’ shoulders, lifting himself up before slowly lowering himself onto Cyclonus’ spike. It wasn’t often that he took that spike in his valve, he could still heel every inch of it pushing into him, feel every twitch and throb as he forced himself to take more and more.

Cyclonus hissed as he felt that tight heat envelop his spike. If he could move, he’d be holding Tailgate by the waist and controlling his every motion, but he couldn’t. He supposed that was the point of this whole scenario.

Tailgate felt Cyclonus’ pelvic plating meet his, the larger mech trying to regulate his breathing. Tailgate had teased him for so long, he didn’t know how much longer he could hold out. He was about to breathe a sigh of relief when Tailgate immediately went to bouncing on his spike, driving it into his valve again and again, the mini using Cyclonus’ shoulders as leverage to push further.

“Tailgate, Tailgate..!” He urged, his visual feed becoming obscured by overheating warnings and overload imminent pings. His arms fought their ties as he tried to reach out and hold Tailgate against him. He was about to topple over the edge when Tailgate suddenly lifted off of him, leaving his spike bobbing and twitching in the cold air of their habsuite.

“What did I tell you?” Tailgate said, breath light as he reached one hand down to his valve, digits rubbing over his node and keeping his charge up. “You can’t overload until I do.”

Cyclonus bit his lip and looked away, optics squeezing shut as Tailgate’s valve engulfed his spike once again. He was much quicker to press down fully than before, unfortunately for Cyclonus.

“Mmf! Cyclonus….You’re so big…” Tailgate moaned as he started bouncing again. His servo continued to rub at his anterior node, his EM field looped feedback through Cyclonus, forcing his charge higher and higher as he plunged Cyclonus’ spike into himself. He powered his optics down and dropped his helm onto Cyclonus’ chassis, whimpering as the spike stretched him again and again.

“Cyclonus!” He moaned, high and desperate as his valve pulsed and twitched around Cyclonus’ spike making a mess of lubricant on the mech’s lap. Cyclonus’ ties strained to hold him as his overload raced through his systems, being pushed over the edge by Tailgate’s. His spark surged as his field reached out desperately for his partner’s both feeding off each other’s charge and pushing their overloads for longer.

When Tailgate came to, Cyclonus was barely awake. The little mech undid the ties and laid his partner in a more comfortable position, nuzzling into his shoulder as they both drifted into recharge.


	14. Shower/Bath- Drift/Ratchet

It wasn’t that Ratchet had some sort of kink for interfacing in the washracks. It was something else. Something Drift in particular did to drive him mad. It did help that their washracks, while they would usually be shared with the rest of the bots on that sector of the ship, were private, thanks to Drift being friendly enough with Rodimus to ask for it. 

It had something to do with the scent? Whenever Ratchet walked into the washracks while Drift was using them, they always smelled different. Maybe the polish or something else he’s using, but it immediately draws Ratchet’s attention. It was something similar to incense and rain, but just a little different.

Tonight, Ratchet walked in on Drift meticulously cleaning his plating and transformation seams. It was getting late, Ratchet did want to shower before he went into recharge, so he simply hopped in next to Drift. He was bathing on his own until he found Drift leaning on him, practically draping his frame over his.

“Did you need something?” Ratchet looked Drift up and down. The mech was more or less done with his washing, he had no reason to be in the washracks, and yet,

“Not really. Want some help?” Drift offered. Well, more said than offered, he had already taken the detached water nozzle from Ratchet’s servos before he had finished speaking. Ratchet knew the body, he had to, but Drift knew it in a completely different way. Drift managed to work his digits into tense wiring, loosening the knots and cleaning them as he worked down Ratchet’s shoulder blades. In a matter of minutes, he had relaxed Ratchet’s entire frame by just working on his back. Drift started moving his servos towards the front of Ratchet’s frame, pressing careful digits into his abdominal plating. Drift didn’t think that Ratchet was unaware of what was happening, he knew the mech wasn’t daft. 

“Oh?” Drift hummed into Ratchet’s throat cabling as his servos found Ratchet’s spike, which the CMO hadn’t realized had come out from it’s housing. “Is that because of me?”

“Stop playing dumb.” In one swift move, Ratchet flipped Drift around, pushing the swordsmech’s back up against the washrack wall. Drift had disengaged his spike paneling as well. Ratchet slipped one servo between Drift’s thighs, spreading them, as the other took back the water nozzle. Ratchet aimed the nozzle’s spray at Drift’s shoulder, letting it slowly travel downwards.

“Hm, Ratch’, I appreciate it, but I’m already clean,” Drift watched as Ratchet didn’t stop.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never done this,”

Drift honestly couldn’t say anything, he knew full well what Ratchet was up to. The CMO let the stream of water hit Drift’s exposed valve. He gasped as pressed harder against the wall, trying to keep himself standing. One servo pushed on the wall and the other flew to grab Ratchet’s wrist. Ratchet laughed at how jumpy his partner’s reaction was. He slowly adjusted the angle every now and again, but mostly pleasured Drift’s anterior node. The mech was whimpering and bucking in no time. By that point, Drift had leaned forward, Ratchet holding him and letting him nuzzle into his neck cabling.

“Mmff, Ratch’,” His hips slowly ground down on nothing, letting the water send his charge up even more, his frame heating in Ratchet’s grasp as charge crackled along Drift’s plating and bouncing onto Ratchet’s where their frame’s met. “Ratchet…!” 

Drift moaned and pushed further into Ratchet, as if to push inside him as he overloaded, legs shaking and giving, frame laying completely in Ratchet’s arms as his body shook. His grip tightened around Ratchet’s shoulder and wrist, charge rocketing off of one frame onto the other. Ratchet let Drift ride out his overload before finally shutting off the water pressure and hanging the nozzle back up. Once Drift’s mewling and panting settled into a soft hum of content, barely louder than his cooling fans, he looked up at Ratchet.

“Y-you didn’t-”

“You can make it up in the berthroom.” Ratchet hefted Drift up, carrying him with one arm supporting his back and the other behind his knees as he carried him off for a continuation.


	15. Medical Roleplay - Cyclonus/Tailgate

Tailgate knows literally nothing about medicine. In all his couple of astrocycles of life, he hadn’t ever managed to retain anything that Ratchet told him in the medibay whenever he went in with a new injury, usually from being clumsy or ‘too spontaneous’ as Ratchet put it.

That didn’t stop him from pretending, though, because what he did know was that he is very good at that. 

“Now, we need to make sure that lubricant production is at a normal level,” He hummed to Cyclonus, who was currently strapped down to the berth. His servos were tied above his head as he lay on his back with his legs spread and bent at the knee, all secured and not coming undone any time soon. Well, not unless Cyclonus said he wanted them to. They were held with simple metal clips that could come undone with a flick of a digit, meaning that though Cyclonus couldn’t reach to undo them, Tailgate wouldn’t hesitate to if asked. Cyclonus trusted his little partner.

His adoring gaze was interrupted when he shut his optics and hissed as Tailgate finally slid his digits along the length of his valve and pushed them in. Tailgate picked up the first toy for the night, a slim, plain vibrator, and slipped it into Cyclonus’ valve. It wasn’t meant to bring him much pleasure, he surmised from how dull the vibrations were. It was meant to wake his valve up, get him to be dripping lubricant into the berth. Tailgate knew just how to nuzzle the toy up against one of Cyclonus’ interior nodes, but just one. It was nowhere near enough for him to get any real pleasure as dull, unenthused charge began building in his systems.

Tailgate hummed as he slicked his fingers across Cyclonus’ valve and removed the toy, promptly shutting it off. Cyclonus shuddered as he felt the toy slide wetly out of his valve with little resistance.

“Now let’s see…” Tailgate held the base of Cyclonus’ spike with his middle and thumb digits as he fished around in his box of ‘medical equipment’ with his free servo. He retrieved what Cyclonus recognized as a spike ring, and Tailgate slid it down to the base of Cyclonus’ spike. He pressed a button on the side and, to Cyclonus’ surprise, it started to buzz. Not the boring, gentle vibrating like that of the valve vibrator, but aggressive, powerful shaking that had Cyclonus buck his hips up off of the berth.

“Now what, my dear doctor, is this for?” He asked through clenched dentae.

“I’m just going to test and see how your spike and valve respond to, uh, dual stimulation!” Tailgate bought up another vibrator for Cyclonus’ valve. This one was actually a bit daunting. Thick, bigger than his own spike, and lined with different ridges and textures. Tailgate felt and saw the subtle squeeze of Cyclonus’ legs in their restraints.

“Of course, my patient can opt out of this part,” He was almost in a hurry to say. Cyclonus simply shook his head and relaxed his body as much as he could, with the insistent buzzing of the spike ring working at raising his charge. Tailgate hummed and rubbed his servo over the top of Cyclonus’ thigh and settle between the mech’s legs with the toy.

He slid the tip through Cyclonus’ wet petals, starting to lubricate it. Soon enough, Tailgate was sliding the length of the spike through his partner’s valve folds. He knew he’d need the help in order to use it, and he wanted to show Cyclonus that he could be trusted and that wouldn’t hurt him by some careless mistake. Cyclonus, on the other hand, was growing impatient. His hips bounced, spike bobbing as his charge only climbed higher, thanks to Tailgate leaving the spike ring powered on.

Cyclonus hissed when Tailgate pushed the tip of the faux spike inside, despite the minibot’s warning that it might sting. He inched it in and out, letting the mech’s valve adjust. Tailgate didn’t often pay much attention to Cyclonus’ valve, he adored it as he worked now, the red biolights lining the puffy white lips.

Slowly, and carefully, Tailgate worked the entire toy into Cyclonus’ valve and turned it on medium vibration. He giggled at the sharp push he got from Cyclonus hips as he pushed himself up to kneel.

“Now time for that dual stimuli,” Cyclonus could see the devilish glee in his visor, despite the confusion on his own faceplates. He soon learned what Tailgate meant when the minibot sunk Cyclonus’ spike into his tiny valve, white hips shivering on top of the mech as he felt the vibrations from the spike ring.

“Hehe, Cyclonus! You’re so big,” Tailgate was happy just to be able to ride Cyclonus without the mech objecting or worrying, he was glad that he was already occupied with his own pleasure. He bounced up and down on Cyclonus’ hips, the purple mech mesmerized by the sight of his spike perfectly disappearing into his partner’s valve. His processor was too fogged with pleasure to think of anything but chasing his overload and that Tailgate really was his.

He was his partner, and out of his own choice too. He had mate that perfectly clear when they had first met and Cyclonus was much more standoffish, yet he persisted. It made Cyclonus’ spark swell to think that Tailgate was his and only his.

Tailgate moaned and reached his servo’s up, holding Cyclonus’ jawline as his own helm dropped onto the mech’s chassis and buzzed into it. It was the simple gesture that had Cyclonus overloading, optics bright and charge crackling across his plating. Tailgate’s overload was triggered by his, panting and moaning and whining into Cyclonus’ chassis as his valve walls spasmed and milked the spike for everything it could give him. He pushed his frame into Cyclonus’, their fields overlapping and intertwining as he held his partner close.

Cyclonus’ clenched servos went slack in the restraints as he exvented, trying to cool his systems. Tailgate shuddered on Cyclonus’ spike as he pulled himself off of it and turned off the vibrators. He carefully removed them and set them aside, then quickly undid all of Cyclonus’ restraints and let them fall to the side of the berth. With his partner free, Tailgate was sliding into his arms and nuzzling into his side.


	16. Exhibitionism - Chromedome/Rewind

Chromedome was very easily able to support Rewind on one knee, despite standing. He pressed his knee into the wall, bending his leg and picking up Rewind, before placing him to sit on top of his thigh. He nuzzled at his little lover’s neck cabling,

“What would you say if someone turned the corner and heard us?” The random, scattered storage rooms around the Lost Light’s hallways had little in the way of sound proofing, but Rewind was lucky enough to get handsy at a more secluded part of the ship. He knew that he could have Chromedome as putty in his servos just by slipping his digits along the mech’s transformation seams and sliding them along the wires beneath as he did.

Though, Rewind wasn’t expecting Chromedome to be talking back to him. Not that he minded.

“Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if the bot with the camera on his helm was into that,” He chuckled as Rewind rolled his hips against his conjunx’s leg. “You want to get this show started?”

When Chromedome disengaged his spike paneling, Rewind followed suit, valve cover sliding aside. He was entertaining the thought of getting spotted, but not actually willing to go through with it. Chromedome’s spike was already straining and hot, Rewind let his servo rest on it while he waited for his partner to make a move. 

It took Chromedome no effort at all to lift Rewind off of his thigh and hold him over his spike. Rewind writhed in Chromedome’s grasp,

“Domey, come on…!” He had gotten just as revved up it seemed. Chromedome dropped his leg down and pushed Rewind against the wall with his servos still wrapped around his waist,

“What if I don’t? Maybe you deserve to wait after doing something so risque, especially to make me take you in a storage closet.” The bright yellow of Chromedome’s visor deepened as he spoke, his voice rumbling and low. Rewind shuddered in his grip,

“Hah, but are you willing to wait?” Chromedome paused to think for a split second before forcing Rewind down onto his spike, immediately pressing their pelvic plating flush with each other, the little bot’s moans quickly filling the tight space they were in. 

“Hm, no, I guess I’m not.” Rewind could hear smugness dripping off of his words. Ever since Chromedome had surprised Rewind like that once in the berth and seen how much the mini liked it, he knew that he could use it to his advantage. Rewind’s legs wrapped around Chromedome’s slim waist at the sudden breach of being filled up.

“Feel good, darling?” Chromedome asked, holding Rewind firm against the wall as he gave an experimental thrust. Both mechs loved the tightness they got when Chromedome gave Rewind no time to prepare for his spike.

“Ah, yes, Domey, yes!” He tried to move on his spike as he felt the ridges along the underside slide against his inner nodes, “More, please…!” His servos pressed against Chromedome’s chassis. It was only curiosity of the outcome that prevented Chromedome from reminding Rewind to keep his voice down.

“Of course, dearest.” 

Chromedome slowly began to work his hips, rolling them to frag Rewind’s tight channel. He may occasionally have his conjunx take his whole spike in one push, but he never set too brutal a pace from the get go. He always took his time to get his lover ready for him. He’d usually let his servos wander his partner’s frame, but with them currently occupied with keeping Rewind from crashing to the ground, that was unfortunately not an option.

“Love you, oh, love you, Domey,” Rewind panted as his pedes moved to rest on Chromedome’s hip bars, pushing up and down so he could somewhat effectively bounce on his spike.

As Rewind forced his digits into Chromedome’s transformation seams again, the larger mech couldn’t help but pick of the pace, slamming their hips together with every move, Rewind bouncing against the wall. Between the clashing of metal on metal, the roar of their cooling fans, and the panting sound of Rewind’s ecstatic moans, there was no way that nobody heard them. It was a miracle that they hadn’t been interrupted yet.

Rewind fell forward against Chromedome’s chassis with a garbled, static laced moan. The larger mech felt that tight valve squeezing and pulsing around his spike as his little lover shuddered. Chromedome slowed down and worked Rewind through his overload before continuing, gradually building back up their speed until he was jackhammering into his conjunx as he felt his charge building in his systems, hot and bright and needing his partner.

Chromedome moaned above Rewind as he filled him up with his transfluid, stuffing him until it messily, sloppily ran down his thighs, leaving nothing to question about what they were doing. Faintly, in his pleasure-haze, he felt Rewind fall into another overload around his spike, tipped over the edge by the warmth that filled him. 

Rewind was humming softly and smoothing his digit-tips over the other mech’s chassis when he hears him chuckle. Chromedome lifts Rewind off of his spike and presses their faceplates together in a short, sort-of-kiss,

“Frag,” He sighs, setting Rewind down, “How’re we going to get past anyone like this?”

“Ohh, you shouldn’t have made such a mess, Domey,” Rewind sang, testing out his shaky legs.

“It’s your fault, you know.”

“Yep, I do, now let’s get moving.”


	17. Double Penetration, Sleepy Sex, Petplay - Rodimus/Ultra Magnus/Megatron

“Good puppy,” Rodimus smiled that shining sun smile that he does whenever he holds Magnus’ helm in his servos. “Don’t be too loud, though, Megs is trying to recharge.”

He was right, it was late and one room over, Megatron was trying to recharge, doing his best to ignore the thumping of Magnus clambering around the rest of the habsuite. Magnus’ response to Rodimus’ request was to gently nudge his captain’s abdominal plating with his helm.

It was unusual for Magnus to want to stay up so late, but with Rodimus keeping him in petspace all cycle and letting him take a break from his usual duties, the mech had energy to burn before he could get into recharge. It was actually an odd case that neither Rodimus nor Megatron had fragged their pet all cycle, considering Magnus’ more-playful-than-usual nudging and rubbing and bumping against their frames as he made his way around the habsuite.

Rodimus sat down on the couch in the habsuite’s main area and let Magnus climb up with him. It took just minutes for Magnus to start pawing at Rodimus’ kibble and interface plating. Though Rodimus had literally only minutes to think of some way to include Megatron, he had found one. He let Magnus rev himself up, allowing his pet to think that he was going to get anywhere.

Mags lifted one of Rodimus’ legs and rested it on his shoulder, sliding forward and nuzzling into his captain’s heated paneling. Rodimus didn’t let him continue to much further. He rested one servo on top of Magnus’ helm and guiding him to rest his chin on Rodimus’ abdominals, looking up and seeing his reflection on his captain’s loving optics.

“You want to go see Megatron?” Rodimus adored the way Magnus immediately perked up at the mention. “Come with me, don’t worry about being quiet.”

Rodimus stood and stepping into the berthroom, turning off the lights in the main room and shutting the door behind them. Once inside the sleeping quarters, the only sources of light were the optics in the room and the bots’ biolights. Megatron shifted as he heard the two enter. He didn’t seem to be quite asleep yet, his optics were half lidded as he tracked his pet approaching him and climbing on the bed.

“Megs,” Rodimus sang, “Our puppy wants to play with you, tonight.”

Luckily for the large pet, Megatron was big enough to not mind being laid on top of. Magnus climbed up onto the bed and let his weight rest on Megatron’s chassis, after pushing the berthsheets off of him.

Megatron realized Mags’ heat, radiating off of the mech’s frame as he nuzzled into his master’s throat cabling. Mouthing gently at the cables, Magnus moved to properly straddle his master’s hips, paws on either side of Megatron’s chassis as they held up his weight.

The gray mech did nothing but slowly run his servo down Mags’ helm, his pet torn between pressing into it and continuing his efforts on the cabling. 

“I was trying to recharge, darling,” Megatron’s deep, rumbling voice, resonating through his throat cables and onto Magnus’ lips, made his pet shudder and and let out a huff of hot air against the wires. 

Mags raised his hips from off of his Master, aft in the air as he pressed his chassis down onto Megatron’s as if to climb inside him while he hungrily lapped and kissed his throat. Megatron let his servos wander his beloved pet’s frame, feeling the pleasant warmth across his body. Megatron was actually slowly drifting into recharge from the lovely heat, along with being worn out from the cycle’s work, when he felt something wet land on his pelvic plating, and noticed that Magnus had stopped his laving and instead hidden his face against his master’s chassis.

“Someone wants you to take care of him, Megs,” Rodimus commented from where he was, kneeling behind Magnus and slipping his thumb into the soaking wet valve that his pet displayed for him. Rodimus pushed three of his digits into Magnus’ valve, forcing out more lubricant that fell onto Megatron’s plating beneath. The mech felt hot puffs of air against his plating as Magnus exvented.

“You might want to take him up on that offer before someone else does,” Rodimus hummed and continued working Mags’ valve, letting his pet rock back onto his fingers. The heady scent of Magnus’ dripping lubricant had Megatron’s spike paneling sliding aside, allowing his spike to pressurize and nudge at his pet’s plating. Magnus immediately shifted away from Rodimus and held himself above his master’s spike, letting the tip barely part his valve lips, but not allowing himself to fuck down onto it, not until he gets told that he can. He looked up to Megatron, optics wide in anticipation. 

To his pet’s surprise, Megatron reached his servos down and, roughly taking hold of Mags’ hips, speared his pet on his spike. Magnus’ legs instantly squeezed around his master’s hips, letting out a loud yelp that tapered off into a comfortable, content moan. He quickly began to frag himself on that spike, letting it nudge and press against his deepest nodes. Though he didn’t often get his valve filled and Magnus would never admit it, he always preferred mechs on the larger side.

Magnus hissed and groaned as Megatron grabbed his hips and angled his thrusts to nail every one of Mags’ most sensitive nodes on ever push, heat and pleasure sparking inside of him as he rode his master. 

It didn’t take long for Magnus to move on his own, crashing down onto that thick spike, knowing that there were going to be paint transfers he’d have to deal with later. He didn’t care, on the contrary, he loved it. He wanted it. Magnus needed people to know who he belonged to, even before opening his mouth. Megatron had no objections, hips snapping up to meet his pet’s.

A sharp slap on Mags’ aft had him freezing, a yelp jumping from his vocalizer. Rodimus hummed a laugh and knelt down behind his pet, 

“You wouldn’t mind sharing, would you, Megs?” He asked, his spike prodding at Magnus’ entrance. Magnus’ valve rippled around Megatron’s spike, lubricant sliding down the sides in fat drops. “Looks like our pet wouldn’t, right puppy?”

Magnus whined and repositioned himself for his captain. Megatron lifted Mags’ hips, almost completely removing his spike from that tight heat. Rodimus slid his spike in alongside Megatron’s and started working his pet back down onto the warlord’s spike. When their plating finally touched, Magnus swore he could feel the spikes pushing on his abdominal plating. After a couple experimental thrusts, sinking down on both the spikes, he let Megatron grasp his hips again and passed control over to him. 

Megatron guided Mags’ hips along the spikes, letting Rodimus frag him at his own pace, but taking a little more caution on his own spike. Once Magnus was pushing to move in Megatron’s servos, he set back to the brutal pace that he had taken before Rodimus decided to join in. 

The speedster was mentally kicking himself for not suggesting that both of them take Magnus at once. Between the tight squeeze of the sloppy valve, and the sensation of their spike against each other, Rodimus was in ecstasy, and he could tell Magnus was, too.

Rodimus’ spark surged at the little sounds Magnus made. Huffing moans, growls, letting his engine speak for him, Rodimus loved all of it. The two captains both adored all the little things that they could draw out of their pet in the heat of interface. His field was much more needy, reaching out and trying desperately to latch onto anything that would take it, forcing so much love through every other field it could grab onto.

Magnus leaned down and crashed his lips into Megatron’s hungrily devouring every sound and every taste the mech had to give him, returning every noise in twice the volume as he moaned into the kiss. Magnus’ optics went wide when he felt his waist seized and forced down onto the spikes. Transfluid poured into him and he collapsed and moaned against Megatron’s chassis, filling him and more. Globs of bright silvery-pink rolled down the spikes and collected on Megatron’s plating, vibrant puddles forming across his gray paint, proclaiming evidence of their love.

Rodimus fell against Magnus’ back, panting and spacing out in the pleasant afterglow. His processor was foggy and clouded until Magnus huffed and shifted off of Megatron, laying next to him. He let Rodimus settle in his own spot before properly laying down. Sharing a berth, even a large one, among the three of them was a challenge, though Megatron always managed to fall asleep rather quickly, as he had managed to do now. The space forced them to press into each other if they all wanted to stay in the same berth. Though, that close contact did let Rodimus notice something.

As he snuggled up next to Magnus, he realized that his pet was still running hot, hotter than usual, even for after interfacing. 

“What’s up puppy?” A quick glance down let Rodimus see that Mags’ spike was still straining against his abdominals, prefluid beading at the tip. “Didn’t overload? Come here, baby.”

Magnus let Rodimus crawl between his legs and begin pressing tiny kisses along the length of Magnus’ spike. Given his size compared to Magnus, Rodimus couldn’t do much physically, but he was more than capable of making up for it in other ways. His field merged with Magnus’, reciprocating every detail and every emotion and every feeling he sent through it,

“So good for your masters, puppy,” Another kiss, “Making us feel so good, listening to everything we say,” Rodimus gave Magnus’ spike a few hard tugs, “Doing whatever we tell you to do,” He let his lips touch the tip of his partner’s spike while he spoke, tasting his puppy’s transfluid, “Love you so, so much,”

That had him overloading. Plating practically vibrating as he shuddered, spike spurting ropes of transfluid across his chest, dirtying and painting his frame. His hips bucked up in Rodimus’ grip, but the speedster worked him through it, gentle tugs on his spike and a nuzzle into his inner thigh.

Rodimus stroked and pet the top of Mags’ thigh until he came down, before crawling back up the berth to help him remove his pet gear. Once he set it aside, he pressed a soft kiss to Magnus’ jawline,

“You’re messy, baby. Do you want a bath?”

Magnus nodded and practically shoved Rodimus out of the berth and followed him to the bathroom to get the clean up ready.


	18. Foot Fetish - Drift/Ratchet

Drift was an object of desire already. His slim waist and curvy hips, his perfectly maintained plating, his beautiful features, Ratchet already knew just how alluring he was. He didn’t count on this new trend that he’d picked up from one of the organic planets.

Every now and again, Drift would stretch soft fabrics over his frame. Lacy ones, ones that wrapped up his leg. Sometimes they went up to his knee, sometimes they went up to the middle of his thigh, and some of them bore patterns while others were fancy, intricate lace weaving.

It wasn’t just the garment, it was the attitude that came with it. Drift would stretch and bend over and run his servos along his frame much more often once he decided to wear the accessory around the habsuite. He knew he was irresistible, but he’d still never managed to get a reaction out of Ratchet with the garment. Maybe he wasn’t being forward enough?

That was the thought that led to this moment. Seated on the sofa, legs thrown across Ratchet’s lap, just under the datapad that he was reading. It took half a minute for Ratchet to give up on trying to complete any work, he set the table aside and rest one servo on top of Drift’s covered shin.

It was a sheer, white fabric with opaque lacing running up along the side of his thigh and calf. It culminated in a thick band, just below his knee. Ratchet traced his thumb along the pattern, feeling the luxurious softness that caressed and hugged his partner’s frame.

“They’re called stockings,” Drift hummed, letting the side of his pede rub along Ratchet’s abdominal and pelvic plating, “Like them?”

‘Like’ wouldn’t have been the right word. With his occupation, almost all of Ratchet’s sensors had become sharpened with skill, but it was emphasized in his servos. With the ehancement to his servos, he started becoming more and more aware of how things felt on his frame, on his plating, and those brushes along his armor felt amazing. Ratchet barely realized that he was running his servos along the delicate material.

“Mmm, that feels nice, Ratch’,” Drift extended his leg in Ratchet’s grip. The fact that he had to remove his plating for the garment to fit him meant that Ratchet’s skilled servos pushed into his mesh, massaging the wiring beneath it, working out the knots and aches that had built up with training and exercise.

Ratchet expertly worked Drift’s legs until the mech decided that he was content, and pulled them away from his partner.

“Thanks, felt nice,” Drift twirled his digit in the air, “Face me? I want to try something.”

Ratchet had a thought on where this might be leading, and he didn’t object. He twisted his frame and leaned back against the armrest, one leg bent with his pede on the sofa, the other pede planted on the floor. Drift hummed and slowly slid his covered pedes across the couch until the toe caps were touching Ratchet’s pelvic plating, one tracing his panel seam. Ratchet took the hint and let his spike spring out from behind the modesty plating.

“Oooh, you were really getting off on that, huh?” Drift sang, toeing Ratchet’s length. “You got a fetish for stockings? Maybe I’ll get myself a full lingerie set, we can see what you think of that.” Drift chatted away while he idly rubbed his pedes along Ratchet’s spike. “Before we do anything, I want to see you get these nice and dirty for me, alright?”

Drift spent a moment or two more slowly feeling Ratchet’s spike through the garment before he let his pedes rest on either side of the spike,

“How about you show me what you want to do?” Drift leaned back on his elbows and decided to let Ratchet do the work, though, the other mech wasn’t entirely sure about what he wanted. His servos gently held Drift’s pedes and tilted them just a little, having Drift’s soles somewhat face each other, his spike in between them.

“Oooh,” Drift hummed in amusement, “Go on, baby. You can use my pedes however you like.”

Hearing the way Drift talked to him, and knowing what he was talking about, had Ratchet’s plating flushing, his field and intoxicating mix of want and embarrassment as he slowly raised and lowered Drift’s pedes along his spike. The soft slide of the fabric surrounding his spike, the mocking words that dripped from Drift’s lips, that Drift eagerly let Ratchet’s field latch onto his, all of it had the medic’s charge skyrocketing as he fragged his partner’s pedes.

“You like that, don’t you baby? You like how my pedes feel on your spike? You like how soft the cloth is?” Drift kept his voice low, soft, yet almost taunting in tone as Ratchet’s hips started to roll up to meet Drift’s pedes.

“What do you want? Do you want to overload on my stockings? That’s what I want you to do, I want you to make a mess, I want you to cover my pedes with your transfluid.” Ratchet was fairly sure that Drift didn’t know what he was saying, that he was just letting words flow from his lips as he stroked his own spike behind his bent legs.

“You going to overload for me, baby?” Drift’s voice was coming out in hot, breathy moans as he tugged on his spike. Ratchat groaned and shuttered his optics, vents and engine roaring as he snapped his hips up and coated Drift’s stockings in transfluid. Bright pink poured from his spike, thoroughly coloring the white stockings, servos squeezing and twitching around Drift’s pedes. At the same time, Ratchet felt Drift tense and shift, hearing his labored moans bubbling up from his vocalizer before settling back down on the sofa.

“Beautiful,” Drift hummed, then lifted his pede and pressed his toecap to Ratchet’s lips, “Now how about you clean this mess for me?”


	19. Voyeurism, Petplay - Starscream/Wheeljack, Windblade/Chromia, Starscream/Chromia

“So, how’s Star been doing?” Windblade inquired about Wheeljack’s pet, leaning on her hand as her other arm rested on the habsuite’s kitchen counter. Wheeljack was striding around the kitchen, preparing energon drinks for the two of them. Cooking wasn’t something he’d done much before, but when Starscream had made the comparison of cooking energon to the chemical reactions that made it up, in a plight to try to get better tasting energon, Wheeljack had actually taken the bait. 

“Just as spoiled as ever. And Chromia?” Wheeljack slid an energon mixed across the counter for Windblade as he walked around and took a seat with her.

“Been finding new ways to keep her active. It really is good for her that she can come and play with Star, sometimes.”

The four of them weren’t exactly a group that ordinarily meshed well, but with them all being on the ‘pet scene’, they fell in with each other. Wheeljack often invited Windblade and Chromia over so that the two masters could stage a pet play-date for their beloveds. 

Though, Chromia and Starscream were very different. Chromia, first of all, wore gear that was meant for play and heavy use. Her favorite part of being a pet for Windblade was that she could goof around and play games with her, while Starscream was more or less the opposite. His gear was more for looks than anything else, though it could take some wear and tear without any issue. Where Chromia’s was thick false leather, Starscream used fine fabrics. Her collar was thick and brown with a silver name tag bolted directly into the band, while Starscream’s was more of a necklace, costume jewelry, but it still looks like gold with gems in it.

That meant Starscream wasn’t very happy about what Chromia was doing. She had effectively headbutted him under the chassis as he tried to crawl about the room, and he’d ended up on his side. Chromia quickly took the opportunity to roll him the rest of the way over and pin him on his back. Shocked as just a little annoyed, Starscream looked up at his master, where he was seated on a high stool next to the kitchen counter.

“Well, hun? What do you want?” Wheeljack hummed. “You can let Chromia frag you, if you’d like.” He continued to nonchalantly sip from his energon cube. As if hearing these words were her cue, Chromia looked up at Windblade for permission. She glanced to Wheeljack, then to Starscream, and when she saw no adverse reaction from either, she motioned for Chromia to go ahead.

Starscream, laying beneath the playful pet, was more heated and embarrassed than anything else. Chromia could tell, she felt in in the prickling nervousness from his field, that experimentally touched and prodded at hers. Chromia dropped her head and nuzzled into Starscream’s neck cabling, feeling the heat along his frame. She was obedient, she wouldn’t dare cross any lined that her playmate wasn’t okay with.

Though, she had nothing against getting him to warm up to the idea. Her servos caressed his waist, lifting him up and pressing down onto his chassis, letting their frames warm each other as his field softened. Gently mouthing at his neck, traveling down, Starscream eventually let his servos come up to hold onto Chromia’s shoulders as she continued. 

The soft ‘click’ of the mech’s interface panel disengaging almost seemed to startle him. Starscream’s servos suddenly jumped off of Chromia’s frame, coming up to hide his own face as his plating flushed. Chromia immediately skipped the rest of her slow descent down Starscream’s body and placed her helm between his thighs, hungrily eyeing his dripping valve. She lifted one of Starscream’s legs and let it rest on her shoulder, then pushed her cheek into his sensitive inner thigh, field reaching out in curiosity and concern. When his responded with a hot pulse of desire, Chromia pressed her lips to his valve, glossa lapping along it’s length. 

She suckled his anterior node, loving the response she got as Starscream arched his back and tried to grind down onto her face. She pushed a series of deep kisses into his valve, her glossa delving and parting his wet petals, drinking up the lubricant as it gushed out. Starscream’s thighs shivered as he thought about what a mess he’s made, and knowing that both Wheeljack and Windblade were watching made his valve pulse along Windblade’s glossa. He was finally letting his optics shut when he felt the sharp squeeze of something thick and heavy filling him up, then pulling out, then he was suddenly flipped over onto his chassis with his aft held in the air by a pair of servos. Given a few seconds, he pieced together what was happening as Chromia started bucking her spike into him.

Starscream pressed his forehelm into the floor as he hissed and groaned, feeling Chromia’s spike fill him over and over again, her hips colliding with his with almost enough force to move him across the floor. Meanwhile, just a few steps over, Windblade and Wheeljack were carrying on a normal conversation as though their pets weren’t fragging like they were in heat next to them. 

The mech felt the hot panting from Chromia above him as she leaned over him and pressed her nose into his neck cabling. Her hips stuttered and faltered in their consistent rhythm, pausing, them slamming into Starscream once, twice,

Starscream was thrown over the edge, burying his shout in the tile as he felt a hot lance of pain from Chromia’s dentae on his throat, and the surge of transfluid filling his valve. Chromia pumped Starscream full before slowly pulling her spike out and admiring the way her bright pink fluid dripped out from his valve and down his pelvic plating, before adding to a puddle on the floor. She returned to the space beside Windblade’s chair and let her master play with her helm while Wheeljack sat on the floor, taking Starscream’s helm in his lap as he gingerly stroked along his body, feeling the slight tingle from leftover charge in his frame.

As Starscream slowly fell into recharge in his master’s servos, Wheeljack looked up to Windblade to see what she was up to. The city speaker laughed as Chromia nudged her hip with newfound energy,

“Same time next week?”

“You’ve got my comm frequency.”


End file.
